


Sburb Records

by milkandhoney



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sburb/Sgrub Sessions, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Humor, I'm still not sure if this is Humanstuck tbh, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Record store au, Romance, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-03-24 16:00:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3774763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milkandhoney/pseuds/milkandhoney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When gentrification threatens to put an independent record store out of business, a group of friends must ban together to save their jobs, their home, and their sanity.</p><p>Loosely based on a 1995 film about a record store starring a certain actress that would make John Egbert proud. Also because I felt like it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **HAPPY RECORD STORE DAY**

“One black coffee, one double shot caramel latte, half soy, half skim, with whip.”

Karkat looks up from his phone. The barista behind the counter has her hands on her hips. It's an attempt to school her face into the sternest expression she can manage, but she's failing miserably. It’s obvious from the way her green eyes dance, that she’s trying not to snicker. He approaches the pick-up area, where she slides the drinks forward. 

“You lost again, didn’t you?”

“Shut up,” Karkat grumbles, reaching for his wallet and slipping out a ten. “You know as well as I do that douchebag cheated. I had it right and suddenly he decides to call some bullshit semantics.”

“That’s what you said last time,” Jade teases, tucking a stray lock behind her ear. Today she wears her long dark hair in a braid down her back. A white apron covers her navy blue sweater dress, and the usual round glasses perch atop her freckled nose . “If you weren’t such a jerk about it, I’d think you actually like playing Dave’s dumb games!”

Karkat takes a sip of his coffee, immediately cringing when it scalds his tongue. Too hot.

“Those dumb games are the only way I’m going to learn to tell Egbert's favorite piano playing geezers apart.” He waves her off when she attempts to give him his change. With a newly built Starbucks within walking distance of the small, independent coffee shop, Jade will need all the tips she can get — even if her cousin Jane _does_ make the best desserts in town. 

Damn. He probably should have grabbed a brownie too.

“I still think it’s stupid that we have to keep it a secret.” Jade pulls a cloth from her apron and runs it over the length of the counter. “John would be really excited to teach you all this stuff himself!”

Karkat shakes his head. “No. We’ve talked about this.”

“ _You’ve_ talked about it. _I_ still think you’re being dumb. Sweet, but dumb.”

“Maybe I am dumb. A smart person would know better than to have a crush on your shit-for-brains brother.”

Jade makes an irritated noise, but doesn't argue. They both know John Egbert is one of the smartest people in town, ranking in the top ten of his soon-to-be graduating class. It's not a matter of getting into college for him, so much as deciding which one he wants to attend.

Karkat looks at his watch; he needs to take soon if he doesn’t want to be late. Wrapping his fingers around the steaming cups, he makes to leave. “I’ve already told you that I’m not going to say anything until I confess to him. My plan is a carefully constructed machine and I won’t have any of you ass monkeys throwing a wrench in the gears.”

“Okay, Mr. Professional Romantic Swoon Guy. Wait a second.” She goes to the display case and removes two brownies, placing them in a bag which she hands to Karkat. “Share.”

He makes a show of accepting them, even if he’s feeling grateful. How does she _do_ that? “Yes, _mom_. You dropping by later?”

Jade nods, shooing Karkat out the door as a tall woman sidles past him to enter. “Durh! It’s Record Store Day!”

 

+++

 

The sky is a dull gray, clouds drifting listlessly across the April sky. The air feels dry, charged with that weird static that hints a storm is coming. Karkat speeds up, huddling against the wind to beat the rain. Lying ahead, the downtown Warehouse District is a sprawling landscape of urban decline, the final respite of artists, hippies, and alternative culture looking to escape the drudgery of everyday life. Forever encapsulated in its cracked sidewalks and brick buildings were the passionate cries of suburban rebellion.

Nine years ago, Karkat’s father was murdered during a missionary trip overseas. At only fourteen, he’d desperately clung to his older brother Kankri like a lifeline, sobs racking his chest. They’d never been terrible affectionate but tragedy had turned a new page in their relationship and in the subsequent years that followed, they became closer, an unspoken understanding between them that they could always depend on each other.

Their father had left the Vantas brothers two things: his legacy and a large record store—a joint investment with an audiophile friend who’d needed the money to finance the project, but didn’t live long enough to realize his dream. Of the two, Kankri chose the former and Karkat the latter. His older brother was now an activist, currently protesting EPA Regulations in Washington, D.C. and sending him letters on a weekly basis. Things seemed like they were going well enough, if a little redundant.

Admittedly, managing Sburb Records made Karkat feel closer to his father, despite his lack of musical prowess— truthfully, he’d always been more of a writer. But the selfless aspect of holding things together, of being his own man, appealed to him in a way he was hesitant to examine. In moments of reflection he chalked it up to his ragtag group of friends, the dysfunctional glue that somehow held him together.

Arriving at the old building—a renovated mattress store, loading dock now converted into a raised entrance and outdoor seating area— Karkat spies two people sitting together on the raised concrete, waiting for him. One tall and blonde, wearing a black varsity jacket over a red t-shirt and tight jeans. Aviators shades hide his eyes and large headphones hook around his neck, their thumping bass audible from a distance. Beside him, a slightly shorter boy with similar build wears a blue plaid shirt, black readers, and a green beanie pulled down over his dark hair. Their heads are bent conspiratorially over an open catalog, which snaps shut as Karkat approaches.

“Finally.” The blonde slides off the platform, stealing a coffee cup from Karkat’s grasp and taking a long sip. “Sweet caffeinated victory, I’ve been waiting for you.”

“That better not be my cup you’re covering in Strider slobber. God knows where your mouth has been.”

“Even the big man blushes thinking about how illicit these lips can be.” Dave raises his cup and examines it. “But yeah. Look.” He holds it out towards Karkat for closer inspection. “Harley always writes something on these things. Someone oughta tell that girl about post-it notes.” The cardboard holder in his hand says _SO COOOOOOOL #1!!!_ in Jade's loopy scrawl. Karkat takes a look at his own cup and grimaces. _BETTER LUCK NEXT TIME, BEEP BEEP MEOW_.

There will never be an end to that goofy nickname.

“Morning, Karkat.” John waves, displaying the full brunt of his toothy smile. “What’s in the bag?”

“None of your business.” The answer only makes John smile wider. It's totally unfair. How does that moronic hat paired with _those_ teeth make the total package look even more attractive? 

Karkat shakes his head and climbs the dock’s stairs, pulling out his keys.

“I bet they’re probably brownies or something,” Dave says as he and John flank their boss on either side. Karkat can practically hear the cocky smile in Strider’s voice and he wants to punch it off. “We’re going to have to roll him out of here Willy Wonka style.”

“Fuck you. I’m not the one drinking liquid diabetes at eight in the morning.”

“Is that the movie where the fat kid gets stuck in the pipe?” John wrinkles his nose. “I always thought that chocolate river thing was gross.”

Dave nods. “Pretty sure it was a metaphor for having the runs. Like an endless stream of rancid sewer dumps from eating all that bullshit candy.”

“Eww, Dave!”

“Would you guys shut the hell up?” Karkat swings the door open, careful of his lukewarm breakfast. “The only defecation I want to think about is the kind I’m going to do into your skulls if you knuckleheads don’t get to work!”

The two boys glance at each other, then lean down in unison to kiss him on the cheek. Karkat sputters, ears and neck flushing pink.

“Fuck!”

 

+++

 

In the back office Dave makes himself comfortable, throwing himself down in Karkat’s chair and propping his feet up on the desk. John’s left them alone to stow his bookbag and begin putting out displays for the big day.

“So. Not that I don’t enjoy free coffee or effortless bragging rights, but don’t you think you should—stop pacing.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Karkat says irritably, but he stops moving.

“Cool. Don’t you think you should finally tell Egbert that you want in his heart as well as in his pants? Not for nothing, but he’s not going to give a shit if you can’t tell Beethoven from Rubinstein.”

“What is this, an intervention? First Jade, now you. Tell me if Rose is going to call, I want to pencil in my therapy session.”

“I get that you’re waiting for this _perfect moment_ ,” Dave continues, too cool for even ironic air quotes. “But sometimes it’s the _moment_ that makes it. You feel me?”

“No, I don’t feel you, _dawg_. Stop spouting nonsensical dribble.”

“How about today?”

Karkat’s fingers pick nervously at his oversized sleeves. “What?”

“You could tell him today. Record Store Day.”

Panic sets in. Karkat can’t deny that today is a big deal and would be a suitable backdrop. _Quick, think of another reason._

“He’s not a homosexual.”

“Dogshit. I’ve kissed him before. Hell, _you’ve_ kissed him before.”

Karkat huffs. He doesn't have the patience to point out that kissing someone of the same gender doesn't automatically award you a rainbow flag. John Egbert is just a very affectionate person, and apparently he is not above showing affection with his tongue.

“That was in middle school, right after my Dad croaked. He felt sorry for me. It doesn’t count.”

“Counted enough to make you pitch a tent.”

“ITOLDYOUTHATINCONFIDENCE” Karkat hisses loudly, at the same time John bounds back into the room.

“Is someone going camping?”

“Oh yeah,” Dave tosses his now empty coffee cup into the trash where it lands with a thud. “Karkat was just saying he wants you to help him with his tent. You know, cause you’re so good with your hands.”

John’s eyes shift to Karkat, who looks like he’s trying to melt through the floor by sheer force of will. All this boner talk is ridiculously ill-timed. John has gorgeous piano hands that make Karkat wonders how they’d feel traveling beneath his sweater. Many nights have been spent on his back imagining it in detail.

“I guess?” John shrugs, grabbing a pair of scissors. “Ask me next time you want to pitch one. Should I put _The Mayor_ ’s display near the register?”

Karkat nods weakly, “Sure.” Once John is gone, he buries his face in his hands. “This is my personal hell.”

There’s a soft _thwump_ from the desk —Dave has swung his legs down and Karkat peers between his fingers as the other boy stares at him with a serious expression. At least, Karkat assumes it’s serious. Those lenses are really dark.

“He got into Harvard.”

It takes a few seconds for the words to fully register, like the motor of Karkat's brain has stalled and someone needs to crank the ignition. “What?”

“Yeah. His old man collects the mail, so he only found out this morning. That’s what we were looking at when you walked up.”

That’s right. Karkat thinks back to the catalog John had quickly shoved out of sight. Suddenly he doesn’t know if he wants to sit down or throw up. Maybe both. His heart is pounding menacingly. “But I thought he wanted to go to that music school?”

Dave agrees. “He still does. But his Dad doesn’t know that. And now that Harvard’s on the table, it’s all Dadbert’s going to talk about.”

“Harvard…” That’s all the way across the country. In a matter of weeks, the hurdle of John Egbert’s supposed heterosexuality will be akin to thousands of frequent flyer miles.

“Yeah,” Dave sighs, propping his head on his arm lazily while he continues to stare at Karkat. “Which is why if you don’t tell John that you love him by the end of the day, I will.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I REWROTE THIS CHAPTER (I think it's better now).  
> Going to try updating "Cakewalk" later this week ❤️

Karkat stares at Dave in disbelief. “You’ll do what?”

 “I’ll tell John that you love him,” He repeats with a shrug. “I’m not sending my best bro a zillion miles away so you can turn it into your own personal tragedy. Wouldn’t be fair to him.”

“Wouldn’t be fair to him?!” Karkat repeats incredulously. “Newsflash! You are basically planning to screw me over on the pretext that my hypothetical suffering could negatively impact the amount of time John Egbert spends googling Ghostbusters sheet music. Is that what our friendship means to you!?”

Dave says nothing to this and Karkat hunches his shoulders. Pauses. “Is this a loyalty thing? You’ve known him for a longer time, so you like him better than me?”

“For the record I like The Mayor better than either one of you,” Dave pulls out his phone and angles it to snap a picture of Karkat’s troubled face. “Consider yourselves tied.”

“Everyone loves The Mayor, jackass. That's why he's got a chart topping album and a sold-out tour. Yet I put you in charge of his autograph session today. Good looking out, me! Just trying to do something nice for my best bro! You know, the one that apparently hates the thought of my happiness!” 

Dave looks up, fingers still moving on his phone. “Listen Vantas, we’ve ticked every item off on the official Bros for Life roster short of naming our kids after each other and makin’ blood pacts. Which is completely cool ‘cause I respect your dumb aversion.”

“Hemophobia.”

“Yeah, that.  Mad respect for you and your phobia that is totally not any sort of irrational.”

“Let me get on my knees and thank the man upstairs for your sensitivity.”

“While you’re down there I know a few ways you could thank me too,” Dave adds with a smirk.

“You’re disgusting.” Karkat turns away, ignoring the warmth in his belly. It wouldn’t be Dave if he didn’t use every opportunity to say something suggestive. Anyway, it’s not like he means it.

“We’ve jammed about this so much we could release a John Egbert tribute album." Karkat turns back to see him pocket his phone. "Dunno what it’s gonna take to convince you, but I smell overtime pay.”

“What you smell is the putrid stench of cool-douche treachery. Take a deep whiff.”

“See?” Dave smirks, “If you were this worked up about confessing, you’d be using these pearls of Egbertian wisdom I keep tossing at your feet instead of makin’ us sit on them like a pair of curmudgeony assholes.” Rising from the desk he grabs a nearby pricing gun. “We done? It’s almost nine. Gotta make sure John’s not out there gluing quarters to the floor or some shit.”

“God-— Strider! We’re not finished talking about this!” Karkat’s shoulders slump when he realizes he’s shouting at an empty doorway. A few seconds later the opening trill of The Beastie Boys’ “Sure Shot” begins to play through the overhead speakers.

Ugh. Fuck that guy. As if ruining his life isn’t bad enough, he has to call first dibs on the store soundtrack too. Karkat makes a note to change the music again before customers arrive. One of Kanaya’s pretentious bossanova albums just to really stick it to him. In French.

Out on the sales floor, the music vibrates its way straight through Karkat’s chest, loud enough to rattle several CDs inside their plastic cases. Locating the panel, he takes the volume from ‘ear-bleed’ to ‘medical waiting room,’ and the difference alerts John to his presence.

“Hey boss!” He beams, climbing down from the ladder. “What do you think?”

A huge banner hangs over the door promoting the current sale on vinyl. John hooks an arm around Karkat and examines his handiwork, tilting his head.

“Looks good,” Karkat nods. “If you’re done I need you to dust. Dave's gonna set up for The Mayor’s autograph session. There's a few boxes with the new album in the back to stack on the table. Put a few by the register too.”

“Yeah okay, but I can’t dust.” Karkat rounds on him and John makes an apologetic face. “Allergies, you know?”

“Ugh, fine. Terezi and Vriska should be here at nine, tell one of them I said to do it.”

“TZ can’t and you know Vriska won't.” Dave slaps an additional 10% discount on a stack of Bieber CDs. “You two set up. Meanwhile I'll man up and dust the place like some cornball detective looking for clues. So meticulous it’s ridiculous.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake..”

“Thanks dude.” John bumps the blonde’s outstretched fist. Karkat shoots a glare at Dave but doesn't argue when John drags him off towards the stock room. This must be a record-- two hours in and the day is already ripe for parody. Not to mention Strider is as subtle as a brick to the head when it comes to his intentions, but it beats leaving Thing 1 and Thing 2 alone to discuss their boss's deep, dark, bucktoothed secrets.

Together they arrange the space, an alcove located towards the back of the store. Massive posters flanking a folding table covered in white cloth, 8 x 10 glossies, and several packs of chalk requested by The Mayor through his publicist. They’re placing a replica of _Can City_ 's album cover made of tins on the floor when John clears his throat nervously.

“I’m glad we’re alone now, ‘cause I kind of need to tell you something.”

“..Yeah?” It comes out thick, the words tight in Karkat’s throat. “It's a free country, Egbert.”

“Heh, shut up. You know how my Dad’s been making a big deal about getting into a good university? Telling me to apply to as many schools as possible?” Karkat nods wordlessly. These peas aren't going to peel the label off themselves. “I heard back from some of them.”

When the silence doesn’t break, John keeps going. “I'm still waiting on a couple. I mean, I haven’t decided or anything. It’s a pretty big decision.” He slips off his beanie, ruffling his bangs. “But I, uh. Found out this morning I got into Harvard! And they have this fancy-pants medical program that I didn’t think I’d get into.. but I did! Pretty sweet, huh?”

Karkat nods again-- he doesn’t trust himself to speak. Thankfully John doesn’t ask why, just wraps his arms around him and squeezes. With his eyes closed, heart racing, Karkat loses himself in the boyish scent of John’s skin: clean sweat and a salt tang, windy days that clear everything in its path, chased only by the urge to burrow deeper. Pressed against John Egbert it's an Armageddon of desire and frustration that's heady, confusing, and over much too soon.

Karkat lets go first, forcing the corners of his mouth into a smile and cursing his hormones. “I’m happy for you, dumbass.”

And then, because he can never leave well enough alone, “What about that music school upstate?”

 _SCREEEEEEEEEEEE_.  Ear-splitting guitars signal a new song streaming though the speakers overhead. John's sneakers squeak against the tile as he jumps to his feet. “I told him not to play this one. Be right back!”

After a lull the music is on again-- bouncy ska from one of John's favorite bands.  Karkat viciously tears off another label. Places the cylinder on top of City Hall. _At least someone's getting shit done._

"It's too early for tantrums, Karkles." Terezi's razor-toothed grin fills his vision, upside-down and too close for comfort, causing him to scuttle back until he bumps into something solid.

"Yeah, didn't you hear?" Vriska nudges Karkat with her sneaker. "Loudmouths who don't get their way aren't allowed to pout about it until at least noon."

"Good one. Now do the impression of someone who signs your paychecks. Oh, wait."

"Only weak weaklings threaten people with money." She steps back so Terezi can pull Karkat to his feet, tucking her helmet under her arm. "Is John in the back? I left my stuff at his place."

Karkat frowns. "Again? His dad's going to start charging rent soon."

"Jealous?" Vriska laughs over her shoulder, disappearing into the stock room.

"You're on the clock, you know!!" Karkat snaps. Who cares if John's ex-girlfriend continually climbs through his bedroom window at all hours of the day and night under moderately liberal parental supervision? Certainly not him.

Hovering near the finished table, Terezi examines a box of chalk with interest. Karkat makes a shooing motion which she ignores in favor of lifting the colored pieces to her nose and taking long sniff.

 "My sister only let her stay at our place for a few days," Terezi shares. "She's still pissed about what happened last time. It took a lot of favors to keep the cops from pressing charges. But she won't pull anything like that at John's place."

"Don't tell me it's her mom again."

"Yeah."

"Fuck.. I'll have her close tonight. She can use the pullout in my office. But I swear to God if anything goes missing, the next time anyone sees her face will be on the back of a goddamn milk carton."

"Terrible, yet adorable. That's why you're the boss."

He shakes his head. "Pretty sure I'm the chump who pays you guys to forever screw him over. C'mon, grab your till and get to work."

Karkat, Dave, and Vriska scramble to finish pricing inventory while Terezi answers phones and John hangs the remaining decorations. At some point he shares his good news with the girls, who congratulate him enthusiastically, Vriska making a promise to announce it over the loudspeaker later that day.

It’s easy to tell they haven’t stopped watching him with shit-eating grins since. To make things worse, Dave is watching him too. The perpetual poker face belies what he’s thinking, and he’s been wearing his headphones since John began playing Matt & Kim’s _Grand_ , but Karkat can feel the weight of his stare behind the dark shades. John continues to hug him at random moments, giddy with adrenaline and overly affectionate; every time Karkat’s feels his heart sink.

Maybe it’s better this way. John will go off to become a successful doctor, get married, have five thousand babies and continue living his extremely charmed life. God knows Karkat is incapable of giving him any of those things. At least at Harvard he won’t be weighed down by crabby bisexuals who are needy and petty and apparently don’t know the first thing about being anyone’s boyfriend.

John still shares his lunch with stray animals, names each and every one of his electronic devices, leaves post-it notes around other people’s houses, and snorts through his nose while laughing at his own incredibly dumb jokes.

The watery burn of tears blurs Karkat’s vision even as John wraps his arms around him from behind with a spirited, “Hey buddy!” Nearby, Dave stops sorting markdowns on the floor and remove his headphones.

“Damn Vantas, didn’t think you'd be this pitiful this soon. Wanna quit while you're ahead? Tell Egbert what you really think of the Ivy League?”

“JESUS FUCK STRIDER, DO YOU HAVE ANY CHILL?” Karkat shouts. The effect is totally lost on how nasal he sounds. John’s arms tighten around his waist, the Egbertian equivalent of a placating shoosh or a friendly pat on the back.

“Ha ha Dave, c’mon, don’t be a dick. You know Karkat's happy for me!" John leans in. "Besides, he always cries when stuff like this happens and you're totally putting him on the spot."

"Vantas cries when _anything_ happens. He can't sneeze without being emotionally triggered. His tear ducts have the strength of tissue paper."

"He's just worried if I go to Harvard I'll become one of those tools who wear sweaters tied over their shoulders. You know, like a cape."

"You don't fool me Egbert, that's exactly what you'd do. Just borrow one of Karkat's trillions of sweatshirts so you can get it out of your system."

"Pretty sure I've already got one-"

"Can we stop talking about me like I'm not standing right here?" Karkat snaps. "Is that a thing that can happen?"

John fondly and oh so platonically nuzzles the top of his boss's head with his cheek. "Yeah yeah. I'm just saying there's nothing to worry about. No matter where I go, I'll always love you like a bro!"

"Like.. a bro?" Karkat repeats weakly.

"Duh. You're basically my best bro next to Dave. Except I probably wouldn't date him if he were a girl. He's a sloppy kisser."

"Enthusiastic kisser." Dave clarifies. Behind them, Terezi snickers. "And if you think Karkat's better in the facehole department, why not try sucking face all the time?"

"Dude!" John's laughter is embarrassed, his face red. The arms drop from around Karkat's waist and shove Dave playfully. "I'm not the one who needs lessons!"

"Don't you want to know how before you get on campus?"

John hesitates. "..Should I?" He turns to Karkat. Dave does too, crossing his arms with a look that clearly says _Go ahead._

So this is what a deer in headlights feels like. Karkat notes his suddenly damp palms, the hilarious way his tongue has suddenly become sandpaper. John takes a step forward and his eyes widen when Karkat nearly trips over a cardboard cutout in his attempt to step back.

He can handle this. He is a business owner. A young adult with an intelligent brain and command over the english language. Apparently he's even a good kisser and hot (hypothetical) girl. Yes. He's got this.

"Fuck off, Egbert. Get back to work."

_How did that happen?_

“Forget it.”

Dave shoves his hands in his pockets and leaves, disappearing into the back office. John catches Karkat’s eye uncertainly.

“Uh. Is everything okay?”

“Fuckin’ peachy. Stay here.” Karkat tosses John his pricing gun. "I'll be back AND DON' T EVEN THINK ABOUT MAKING A TERMINATOR REFERENCE RIGHT NOW, YOU SHIT."

"Hey man, you set it up." John goes all innocence, waving his hands. What an ass.

The door bounces off the wall when Karkat throws it open and stomps into the room, fully intent on calling Dave out for being a total shit, and has nothing to do with apologizing because, hey fuckhead, he didn't do anything wrong. What Karkat doesn't expect to find is Dave crouched in the middle of the floor, assembling a drum kit. He's pushed the desk off to the side to make room, dragged the worn rug out from beneath it as a support.

Karkat's eyes move from Dave to the open storage closet and back again. They both know why the drum kit was in there. Talk about playing dirty.

"Put it back."

"Nah, I'm good."

“I’m dead serious, Strider. This isn’t some 'ironic' gesture where you use symbolic shit from my past to teach me a lesson. Stop copying your sister and just piss people off the normal way!!!!"

"Damn. I'm almost flattered you rushed back here like it was a federal case." Dave continues, fitting the hi-hat on its stand with deliberate care. "Left Romeo out there to wait while you make sure the Nurse's bum knee didn't give out in the mad dash to get away from you two pawing each other."

He speaks in a bored tone but his shoulders are stiff, more concentration placed on snapping the drum cases than they actually warrant.

"What's this? Another Strider analogy that impresses absolutely no one? Points for trying to make it relevant to the audience."

"Romantics usually dig The Bard."

"F.Y.I., John "can't-keep-his-hands-to-himself" Egbert is exactly the scenario you're trying to force on me here!"

"Give me a little credit. I'm trying to create romantic openings large enough for a herd of elephant to pass through and you're twiddling your thumbs like the only girl at the rodeo with her hymen intact."

Karkat feels his irritation spike. *Stop moving and look at me!* "If anyone is fucking Romeo around here, it's me." He snatches the tom out of Dave's arms and hugs it to his chest. "You're my shitty wingman who dies an unfortunate death when I cram a drumstick so far down your windpipe it comes out the other side."

Dave sits back on his haunches. "They didn't have those. Romeo’d have beat Mercucio over the head with a lute or something."

"And we weren't pawing each other," Karkat continues, because it won't be a normal tiff unless he's contrary as fuck and he needs this to be normal. "The irony of my having to say this is not lost on me, but listen up Strider: John is *happy*. You know, the emotional gambit neither of us have yet to master??"

Karkat puts down the drum. "So we're gonna be happy too, even if it means stapling our goddamn mouths into a rictus grin every time he so much as blinks in our direction."

Dave gives him a long stare and Karkat watches as the tension drains from his shoulders. "You looked miserable out there."

"Idiot. I always look miserable. It's what makes me so goddamn charming." 

For the first time Dave cracks a small smile and he manages to give one back. They turn in unison when the door swings opens again.

 "Guys?" John stands in the doorway, looking anxious. "You miiiiiight wanna come out here."


End file.
